Catching Fire
by Riptide2
Summary: "Love is like a friendship caught on fire..." Deeks has been out of contact with his partner for over a month, when Callen breaks into his house with information that Kensi's classified mission is about to go sideways. Set after 5:14 'War Cries'.
1. Breaking & Entering

NCIS: Los Angeles, _Catching Fire_

"_Love is like a friendship caught on fire; in the beginning a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love become as coals, deep-burning and unquenchable." – Bruce Lee._

It's been a ridiculously long day and by the time he pulls into the parking area of his apartment building off the PCH, all Deeks wants is a beer, a hot shower, and his bed, not necessarily in that order. Instead, he grabs his go-bag, locks up his car, and heads toward apartment 2C and his very hippie neighbor, Miss Karla Khool. Kay-Kay, as she prefers, is barely five foot three and at least a hundred and fifty pounds with green-gray hair that's as obviously fake as her last name. But this is L.A. and she's hardly the weirdest person Deeks has ever lived across the way from.

Any day that started with two dead military contractors buried in a heap of garbage guaranteed to be a long one and he doesn't even want to think about what could have happened had they not realized in time just how dangerous Robert Brown really was. Callen has a soft spot for Nell, admittedly he does too, and her getting hurt would have made for one very bad day. Still, they'd caught the baddies; Brown was going to spend the foreseeable future locked up somewhere he couldn't hurt any more women, and everyone had gone home more or less unscathed.

He'd called the dog loving, love bead making Miss Kay-Kay to pick up Monty that afternoon at the first sign of the case blossoming into headache inducing proportions and she'd assured him that Monty would be living the life of a pampered pouch till he got off work. Now, Deeks can hear the yipping of her two terrier terrors from ten feet away and when he dings the bell a tinny version of the Beetles _Hey Jude _joins into the racket. She opens the door by the time the chorus cycles around for the third time and five minutes later he's retreating quickly enough to be considered rude with Monty in tow and a beaded necklace that would make him the laughing stock of OSP for weeks to come.

He crosses the shared courtyard to his own apartment and has his key in the lock before he realizes something isn't right. Monty is pressed against his leg snarling and the window blinds in his kitchen are closed tightly, definitely not the same position he left them in. Deeks drops his bag onto the sidewalk, unclips his dog's leash, and pulls his gun. He pushes the door in quietly and lets Monty run in before him as the soft rock tunes of a station that definitely isn't his easy listening 103.7 washes through the door.

There's a still cold bottle of bud sitting on his end table and inexplicably that pisses him off. Who breaks into a man's home just to help themselves to his fridge and mess with his radio?

Deeks takes a moment to clear the rest of his living room and then zeroes in on where the sound of Monty's excited yipping comes from. His gun comes up from his side as he turns the corner into the kitchen and then his brain stutters to a halt as he takes in the scene in front of him. The absolute last person he expected is sitting in his kitchen, petting his dog.

Callen looks up blue eyes crinkling in amusement as he takes in Deeks' flabbergast expression and still raised Beretta. "You might want to watch where you point that thing."

"Right," Deeks says lowering his gun to his side. "What are you doing?"

Callen raises a single eyebrow at him and Deeks cringes when he realizes how harsh that must have sounded. But really he's still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Callen's sitting in his kitchen, petting his dog. "We need to talk," the lead agent finally offers, giving Monty's belly one more rub before he straightens.

Those have to be the most terrifying words Deeks has ever heard uttered and he has a moment of panic where he thinks Callen's found out just how far beyond partners Kenzie and he have taken their relationship, because it definitely is an _r-_word now. He holsters his gun, takes a moment to ponder if any of his neighbors will bother to call an ambulance if Callen goes all big, overprotective brother on his ass and this ends with him on the floor bleeding, and finally leaves the room for a moment to hide the evidence of Miss Kay-Kay's love beads before Callen can see and laugh himself silly.

When Deeks returns, Callen hasn't moved. He's sitting still as a statue, ice blue eyes boring a hole into the taupe and grey backsplash of Deeks' kitchen. He crosses over to the fridge and cracks himself a Pepsi before turning back to the lead agent, "What are we talking about?"

Callen doesn't respond, just flicks his eyes over Deeks then back to the wall, and Marty has a moment to wonder if the word _straightforward _is even in his boss' super spy dictionary. Suddenly Callen's meeting his gaze head on, icy blue against his own sky blue, "Kensi."

Deeks straightens in shock. He hasn't heard from her since their stolen phone call at Christmas, not a _Hi, I miss you _or a _Hey, I'm not dead _in over a month's time. "Is she okay?"

"So far," Callen nods. He reaches out to pet Monty's head, letting his fingers tangle in the dog's unruly brown locks before he continues, "Maybe not for much longer."

Deeks is moving forward a step instantly, eyes narrowing in suspicion, "What do you know?"

"Less than you think I do," Callen responds before pausing. He needs to choose his next words carefully, even if he already knows the answer. Deeks sinks into the chair opposite, trying to supress a completely inappropriate eye roll. Someone definitely left the word _straightforward _out of Callen's dictionary. "If you knew your partner was in danger what would you do?"

Deeks is just about ready to leap out of his chair and demand the whole story, not just the filtered, watered down version Callen's giving him, but Granger is being remarkably tight-lipped about Kensi's classified mission to somewhere he isn't allowed to know the name of to do things no one can tell him about. Instead, he tries to play it cool, "Are you saying she's in danger?"

He winces mentally at the terse note in his voice, so much for playing it cool, but his heart is in his throat and he can't be bothered by how easy he's making it for Callen to read him. The ex CIA operative stands abruptly, staring him down, "What would you do?"

Deeks stands as well, matching him, blue eyes sparking and intense, "Anything."

Callen nods, pulls his leather jacket on and turns to go, "Good. She's going to need you."

"Wait," Deeks says, his hand snapping out to catch Callen's elbow. He's ridiculously close to taking a head long leap over every line drawn between them, but he has to know, "Are you saying she's in danger?"

Callen looks him straight in the eye and gives him the most honest answer he has yet, "Yes."

He's gone by the time Deeks pulls his composure back together enough to get past that one simple word. He contemplates tracking Callen down and demanding the rest of the story, but he has a feeling that he's used up all the openness his boss has to offer for one evening. He has to trust that Kensi really is his favorite agent and that Callen won't let something happen to a member of his team if he can prevent it.

Instead he sets out Monty's food, feeds the dog more treats than were probably recommended, and checks the Chinese food in his fridge for edibility. It doesn't smell funny and it isn't covered in any suspicious fuzzy green spots, so he dishes out a plate of Lo Mein and chicken dumplings despite the fact that his appetite has followed the lead agent out the door and tries to forget what he said, _"She's going to need you."_


	2. Danger

Chapter 2: Danger

"_As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words." - William Shakespeare._

Deeks spends the entire night tossing and turning and Callen's words from the previous evening are still circling around in his mind like a herd of fire ants as he loops around the block twice before pulling into his space outside the Spanish Mission that disguises OSP's offices. It's still early for anyone other than the techs to be at work and it surprises Deeks to see Callen's blue Jag already parked three spaces ahead of him.

Deeks heads toward the front door, notes that Sam's Challenger isn't here yet which in itself is kind of surprising because the lead pair of partners are usually like each other's second shadow, and tries to block out the fire ant colony that's attempting to build a nest between his ears.

_Are you saying she's in danger?_

_Yes._

Deeks shakes his head, drops his go-bag beside his desk, and frowns as the sound of rapid fire arguing catches his attention. Callen's pacing a furious circuit across the second floor walk way opposite ops, a satellite phone in one hand, the other curling into a loose fist at his side as he listens to whatever the person on the other end of the line has to say. Deeks reflexively cringes as Callen's expression darkens before he snaps back in something that sounds vaguely Russian.

The rest of the conversation is short, sweet, and probably filled with a few threats of bodily harm, and the lead agent listens for a moment more before he hangs up without a word. Deeks pulls out his laptop, and wonders what exactly _that_ was about as he waits for it to boot, before logging into the private NCIS server. He looks up from his screen just in time to catch Callen watching him, an unreadable expression on the agent's face, before he flicks two fingers at Deeks in a _come here_ gesture.

Deeks steps away from behind his desk, pulls the back of his shirt down to cover the butt of his gun, and heads for the stairs. There are a million possible reasons for Callen wanting to talk to him, from a training exercise to an upcoming op or possibly the stack of reports in his inbox that he has yet to finish, but his mind automatically jumps to the most important: Kensi, and if she's alright.

_Is she ok?_

_So far, maybe not for much longer…_

He reaches the second floor and tries to push the though away. Callen may have one hell of a poker face, but Sam and Kensi are family and there's no way he'd risk their safety. Instead he falls back on the old stand-by of humor and gestures to the sat phone in his boss' hand, "You get blood on Hetty's wardrobe again?"

"That's not even funny, Deeks." Callen says, but smiles nevertheless.

"While if it wasn't the dry cleaners that you were arguing with," Deeks says, wondering just how straight of an answer he'll get this time.

"One of my CIA contacts," Callen explains, moving to stand in front of the window. "She's stationed in Kiev right now."

"The CIA's involved in the Crimea situation," Deeks concludes, as he steps up to stand beside his team leader.

"Yes," G offers, being surprisingly open. "It's classified, but yes."

That has international incident waiting to happen written all over it and by the tone of Callen's phone call it's going to go south sooner rather than later. Still it's not their jurisdiction at the moment and Kensi's safety is infinitely more important to him so Deeks moves along, giving Callen a sideways glance as he tries to predict just how long this uncharacteristic openness is going to last. Finally, he decides, "But that's not what you wanted to talk about, is it?"

"No," Callen admits. He needs to play this carefully, too much information could put Deeks at risk, but not enough would mean sending half his team into a potentially explosive situation blind. "What do you know about White Ghost?"

"Nothing," Deeks answers truthfully. Kensi was remarkably tight-lipped about the nature of her classified mission during their stolen phone call at Christmas. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say it has nothing to do with racist spectres though."

"You'd be right, Deeks." Callen says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips before he sobers, "But it does have everything to do with what your partner's doing."

"Right," Deeks sighs, trying to make the few puzzle pieces he has fit together. So, Kensi's classified assignment, which may or may not be about to go south, has something to do with a White Ghost, who is not in fact a racist spectre. That makes perfect sense. "And Kensi is where, again?"

Callen huffs a breath, eyes drifting down to the sat phone in his hand, before looking Deeks in the eye. And before the agent can say anything Deeks discovers another universal truth. That Granger has the worst timing of any human being he has ever met.

The double side doors bang shut, effectively cutting off any more information before Deeks can get a clue as to where his partner has been reassigned to, and admitting the assistant director in all his balding, annoying glory.

G catches the flicker of irritation that crosses Deeks' face and chuckles. Callen's made no bones about exactly how he feels about Owen Granger's interference. "We'll talk later, Deeks."

Deeks nods and turns to walk away, knowing any openness the lead agent was showing has just left the building. His answers will have to wait.


	3. Connections

Chapter 3: Connections

"_Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great." - Roger de Rabutin._

It's been a week since Callen's promise that they'd talk later and Deeks is just about to the point of asking for clarification on just how long _later_ is in Callen's books. Still he knows better than to push the ex CIA operative, Sam's just about the only who can get away with that without receiving a black eye for their troubles. He's tried calling Kensi by sat phone the last three nights, but between the time difference and their latest op he hasn't been able to get through.

It's just after 9 p.m. and the mission is quiet on both levels aside from Hetty and a few remaining techs. He risks a glance around; making sure no one's paying any specific attention to him before he unlocks the bottom desk drawer and reaches for his Christmas present from Hetty. The satellite phone rings once in his ear before redirecting to a standardized '_The operator you have dialed is not available' _message. It's so much worse than the empty ringing he's had the last three nights and Deeks pulls the phone away from his ear, swallowing down the urge to throw it at Owen Granger's face. It's already been a long day though between Sam and Callen nearly getting killed protecting one of Hetty's old assassin buddies and him pairing up with Downton Abby and getting suspended for assaulting the assistant director would just be the icing on the cake.

Instead he tugs his drawer open, replaces the sat phone, and frowns as he notices a sticky note wedged between his cuticle clippers and spare magazines. There's a street address wrote on it in slanted, blocky scrawl signed with a single letter and Deeks shakes his head as he refuses to imagine how Callen managed to slip a note into his locked drawer in one of the most secured locations this side of D.C. without being noticed.

Google Maps tells him that the address is in Valencia, a twenty minute drive from the Mission, and he spends the entire ride over debating whether this is Callen's idea of a newbie scavenger hunt or if he'll finally learn where exactly his partner has been reassigned to. He kind of doubts that G would send him on a wild goose chase after promising that they'd talk later so he crosses his fingers and breaks the speed limit three times on the ride over.

It's a residential house on a corner that Deeks pulls up in front of and he has to double check the address because this the last place on earth he would have expected. He steps out of his car and heads for the front door noting the white stucco archway and the roses growing up and across the top. If this is Callen's idea of a practical joke, he's going to string the lead agent up, or at least try and he knocks on the door fully expecting to have the wrong place.

Instead it's Sam that opens the door, dressed in sweats and looking remarkably more relaxed than Deeks has ever seen him at work. "Hi," Deeks stutters in surprise, "Callen left-" He waves the note in the air as explanation and tries to figure out which cat it was that stole his tongue.

"I know," Sam states, holding the door open and failing to hide his smirk, "Get in here already."

Sam leads him down a hallway, past a living room that contains exactly two pieces of furniture, and into an only slightly less Spartan kitchen. Callen's standing with his back to them, staring out the kitchen window, the same satellite phone in his hand, and in the middle of another argument.

"I need clearance and a plane on standby, that's all, John," Callen says, his tone walking the fine line between asking and telling. He listens for a moment, rolling his eyes at an indiscriminate spot out the window, and finally takes a leap straight into demanding, "You owe me and you know it. Do you really want me to bring up St. Petersburg?"

The agent listens for a moment, then hangs up, and tosses the sat phone on the counter, "About time you got here, Deeks."

"You could have just given me a call, or texted. Texting is always good," He blathers, before frowning, "Where is here anyway?"

"You're the detective." Sam smirks, sinking into one of the folding chairs surrounding a card table set up in one corner of the kitchen, "Detect."

Callen shoots his partner a look that's somewhere between annoyed and amused, and waves Deeks into one of the other chairs before perching on the edge of the countertop, "I live here, Deeks. I had to be sure we weren't being bugged."

"You live _here_?" Deeks asks just to make sure he heard that right before glancing around at the complete and utter lack of furnishings. "Which is cool and all, but dude, where is all your stuff?"

Sam rolls his eyes with an air that clearly states that they've had this argument multiple times before explaining, "G doesn't do stuff."

"How do you not do stuff?" Deeks demands just because someone has to and then moves on because as much as he would like to bring Callen up to speed with this month's _Home & Garden, _Kensi's safety is the much more pressing issue. "But I'm guessing I'm not here to decorate."

"No," Callen admits, "You're not."

"But G, we just want you to find a nice girl," Sam interjects, smiling through Callen's glare with the ease of practice.

"Anyway," Deeks says, interrupting the bickering war before it can escalate any further. "If I'm not here to play interior designer, not that I don't do a mean Debbie Travis, then why am I here?"

"What do you know about Kensi's op?" Sam asks suddenly all business.

"Only that it involves a White Ghost, who isn't actually a racist spectre." Deeks answers before jumping to the question that's been running around in his head since Granger first decided to stick his nose in places it didn't need to be. "Kensi is where, again?"

"Kabul." Callen states, sliding off the countertop to occupy the chair directly across from Deeks, "She was reassigned to a temporary air force base between Kabul and Jalalabad."

"Afghanistan." Deeks repeats, still somehow half in shock, because now that he knows it just brings up a million more questions. "What's this have to do with White Ghost?"

"White Ghost _is _the mission," Sam explains, leaning back in his chair to stretch the stiffness from his shoulders.

"Ghost is a CIA wives tale," Callen takes over, before he can point out that Sam's explanation really explains nothing. "Or at least he was until about six months ago. There have been rumors circling for years that an American, ex Special Forces agent has been feeding information to the Taliban. Times and places of raids, names of informants and undercover agents, routes followed by transports, information that's damaging to U.S. personnel on the ground."

"So what happened six months ago?" Deeks asks.

The partners share a glance that conveys an entire conversation leaving Deeks with the feeling that their not telling him something important, before Callen picks up the lead again, "Six months ago a CIA deep cover agent was found dead in his hotel room outside Jalalabad. An hour before his death he uploaded a series of surveillance photos to a secure drop point. They were all of the same man, none showing his face, with the notation 'White Ghost'. Since then he's been linked to half a dozen murders and implicated in information leaks across the globe."

"And Kensi's there to find him," Deeks concludes. It's an information overload after a month and a half of no answers and his imagination running wild, and he's not entirely sure which is worse.

Sam shakes his head, "Not exactly."

And Deeks has a moment to wonder if Callen's paranoia is contagious, before the lead agent utters the most baffling statement Deeks has heard yet, "Ever heard of _Pepperwood Pet Supplies_?"

"Should I have?" Deeks asks because that klepto cat has made its reappearance and taken off with his tongue. It takes him a moment to come up with something appropriately witty along the lines of Sam being jealous of Monty's haircut and by the time he does Callen's standing.

"You might want to take a look, Deeks." The lead agent says, digging a scrap of paper from his pocket with login information scrawled across it.

Deeks doesn't question it, just follows the lead agent to the door and this time it's Callen that catches his elbow before he can step out, "Deeks." He waits till the Detective turns, "Be ready to move."

Deeks nods mutely because suddenly this whole thing has become real. His partner's half a world away hunting a man who has killed at least half a dozen people with no back up other than the assistant director, the fact that she hasn't been answering his calls only makes it worse.

_What would you do?_

_Anything…_

Callen squeezes his arm, trying to be reassuring, and then retreats back to his kitchen leaving Deeks on the porch with some of his answers and even more questions. Sam's waiting for him, staring a hole into the wall, but he looks over as Callen sinks into the opposite chair, "You aren't going to tell him who Ghost is, are you?"

Callen shakes his head sullenly; it's not his secret to tell, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."


	4. Illusions

Chapter 4: Illusions

"_Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes... just be an illusion."_ – Javan

Kensi's had just about enough of the desert. It's cold, it's bland, and if she sees any more sand, she just might scream. Don't get her wrong, she's a California girl all the way. Sand, sun, and surf have always been her forte, but she's been picking sand out of her clothes and hair for over a month and she's just about at her limit.

The only thing making it tolerable has been Deeks. He might be half a world away, but her partner still has the ability to make her laugh and she keeps running through their sat phone call at Christmas over and over again. It's just about the only thing keeping her sane.

She's taken to tailing Sabatino whenever he leaves the base and at the moment she's in the middle of Jalalabad watching him from across the marketplace. He's been meeting with his informants all morning and while it's useful to have a working list of his allies if he does turn out to be White Ghost, she's been bored out of her mind for the last three hours. It's Deeks' fault, she concludes sullenly. She's too used to having her partner watching her back and cracking inappropriate jokes.

She's crossing the street for a better vantage point when she's knocked into from behind. The woman at fault looks up to catch her eyes when Kensi turns, giving her a flash of blonde hair and brilliant green eyes under her head scarf. "_The Star_, ten minutes, Callen sent me," the woman whispers, before backing away muttering apologies in Arabic.

_The Star _is a seedy looking hotel, two blocks down from where Sabatino is bowing goodbyes to his informant and if she goes after the woman she's going to lose him, but curiosity wins out in the end. Kensi gives the CIA operative one more glance before wandering through the market in the opposite direction. She stops at a couple stands as she goes for appearance's sake, buys a knitted scarf and a pair of finger gloves that she knows her partner will love, and arrives under _The Star_'s fading blue awning with two minutes to spare.

The woman appears a moment later from a bakery across the street and beckons Kensi toward the alley opposite impatiently. Kensi frowns glancing up and down the street in both directions. She's all too aware of the chances of this being a trap, but no one seems to be paying them any undue attention, so she follows with one hand on her gun.

The woman's waiting for her, lurking in the shadows of the bakery's two story structure, and she motions urgently when Kensi appears in the threshold, "Come quickly, before someone notices."

She speaks perfect English with a strong European accent and Kensi suddenly has her suspicions. A flicker of a memory comes back to her, Callen mentioning a password of sorts that he'd used to verify CIA contacts back in the day. "What do you call a storm?" Kensi asks before she can second guess herself.

The woman looks her straight in the eye and doesn't hesitate, "Tempest, Agent Blye."

Kensi re-holsters her gun and breathes a little easier. If Callen trusts this woman, then so can she. "Kensi," She offers, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Sarah," She says without trying for a last name, "Callen sent me to give you a message, '_the past is a ghost, the future is a dream, and all we ever have is now'."_

"What does that mean?" Kensi demands, there are times she hates Callen's paranoia and this is definitely one of them.

The woman doesn't respond, just presses a folded sheet of paper into her hand and starts to back away, "Good luck, Agent Blye."

…..

Kensi's laying on her bunk, shivering under six inches of blankets, trying to tune out the constant bleeping of computer systems in the main room and the fact that her nose went numb at least half an hour ago, when she catches the edge of Granger's voice. She pushes the blankets off, giving up on sleep, and cringes as her feet hit the cold floor and Granger's agitated voice rises.

He hangs up as she moves to join him asking, "What's going on?"

The assistant director gestures to the screen in front of him displaying a map of the Afghani desert a couple miles outside of their base, "We lost a chopper somewhere in here."

She takes in the map in new interest, noting the marked off radius as Granger asks, "You know this area?"

"It's where Sabatino ditched me," She admits, glancing back to catch his reaction, "Have you been in contact with him?"

"No," The assistant director has always been hard to read but she thinks she sees a hint of unease ghost across his features. "Get dressed," he orders, "We're heading out at first light."

…

Their resident tech operator is rising to stop them before Kensi even makes it inside the door, and she has a moment to wonder what else can happen today before he's delivering the bad news, "A convoy of armed insurgents has been spotted making a run for the Pakistani border."

He glances down to point out a spot on the map as Granger asks, "We think it's the White Ghost?"

Kensi shakes her head, she's never believed in coincidence, "That's close."

"It's probably the same bastards that shot down our chopper," the assistant director concludes.

Kensi's already moving, "I'll get my gear." And then to Booker, "Find me a bike."

"What are you going to do?" Granger demands, sounding somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"What you brought me here for," she states. She's killed before, but this a completely different monster, and a part of her wonders if it should be this easy. "You can talk me in," She concedes because he looks about ready to protest. As Kensi snatches up her borrowed rifle, she has a moment to wonder if he knows something she doesn't.

Kensi parks her bike under the crest of the hill. It's a risky cover, but the convoy's already in place and there's no way around them without being seen. They'll see her for sure once she takes the shot but hopefully by then it'll be too late for the Ghost. She has her rifle partially assembled by the time Granger's voice springs to life in her ear piece demanding an update.

"I see the convoy," she responds, screwing on the extended barrel, and if her voice is slightly breathless Granger doesn't comment, "Getting into position."

She pauses long enough to get her breathing and heartbeat under control. There's always a moment of adrenaline before she takes the shot, but this is different, and it's like her brain has just caught up with the knowledge of what she's about to do. _Think of Deeks,_ she repeats like a mantra, _the sooner this is done, the sooner you go home._

Granger's in her ear again as she settles the rifle in the crook of her shoulder, "Let us know when you have a positive I.D. on the White Ghost."

Kensi lines up her sights and starts scanning faces. "See him?" Granger asks, and she has to bite back an eye roll at his impatience.

One stands out, shaggy, straight, black hair and pale skin. Kensi starts to set up her shot, "Yeah, I see him."

"Okay," The assistant director's voice is steady, calm and Kensi latches on to that as her finger settles over the trigger. "Make the shot."

"He's behind the truck," she explains, shifting her hands back into a waiting position.

Patience is a virtue that every good sniper knows and she's one of the best, but Granger apparently never read William Langland and his tone is hovering on the edge of snapping, "Don't let him get away. That's an order."

She has no intention to, and Kensi shifts her sights, following as he circles around the truck, unknowingly exposing his back to the rifle's pin-point scope, "I've got him."

The adrenaline's taking over, washing out any doubts of whether killing this man is going to be too easy as Granger demands, "Take the shot."

Kensi dials in her focus, her finger settling over the trigger as Ghost reaches up to pull down his bandana and her brain stutters to a halt. It's impossible, an illusion, a ghost, but _he's here_ staring right back at her. She's suddenly six years and two continents away, on Christmas morning in an empty bed and the only thing she can think is _why now?_

"Agent Blye, take the shot."

It's the assistant director that startles her back to awareness, his voice sharp and demanding in her ear and she raises the rifle once again, numbness taking over her fingers, and she can't do it. Even after everything he's done, the things he's suspected of doing as the Ghost, she can't kill him. The bullet flies true, pinging off the hood of their truck, and she only has a moment of realization before the insurgents start firing back.

She's half way back, Granger's voice in her ear drowned out by the bike's roar, when her stomach flips with the knowledge of what just happened. She swallows down the bile that burns in her throat and blinks away angry tears. _Why now?_ It's been cycling through her head like a broken record. Why did he have to come back now, right when things are starting to look up with Deeks?

Kensi still doesn't have an answer by the time she stows her bike inside the base's security point and heads for her temporary home. _Home,_ the thought almost makes her sick.

Granger's waiting for her when she bursts into the trailer all demands and accusations, "What the hell happened?"

"I didn't have a good shot," The lie slips off her tongue before she has a chance to think about it and she's practically on her toes with the need to be anywhere but here.

"Did you even take one?" Granger snaps, stepping into her path.

She rocks back in surprise, reclaiming her space, "Yes."

It comes off far sharper than she intended and Granger latches onto her slip, "And?"

"I missed, ok?" Kensi snaps, and cringes when it sounds as weak as it really is. She doesn't miss, and she definitely doesn't let the bad guys get away, except apparently she does now. "I missed. I'm not even sure it was him."

"Saw his face?" Granger asks and she hesitates, _yes, too well._ "Blye," he demands and she manages to stutter a response, "Barely."

Kensi blathers her way through his pushing for details and retreats to the hole in the wall she calls home. The door slams shut behind her, leaving her alone in the dark, and Kensi rests her head against the wall, trying to catch her breath. _Why now, Jack? Why now?_


	5. Missing

Chapter 5: Missing

"_Love lights more fire than hate extinguishes." – Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

_Los Angeles, California_

_December 24, 2008_

It's Christmas Eve and Kensi's never been happier. She's walking hand in hand with Jack, coming back from lighting a candle at the veteran's memorial on Fifth Street. It's their own little Christmas tradition, one she's carried since her father's death, and this is the first Christmas since Jack's deployment that they've been able to do it together.

Jack's been getting better, too. He doesn't jump anymore at car horns or thunderstorms, but the nights are still a challenge and Kensi can't remember the last time she slept through till morning. It's a rare moment of peace that they're enjoying and she doesn't want it to end as they turn the corner toward the apartment they share.

She tugs on Jack's hand, pulling him down for a kiss, it's simple and sweet and she's grinning like an idiot. He raises an eyebrow at her when she pulls away, "What was that for?"

"No reason," She shrugs and he laughs. There's an edge to it that she's been hearing more and more of lately, but he's been through hell and she can't bring herself to question something that could be nothing at all. "Come on, we can make hot cocoa."

It's definitely not the weather for it, California's been having a hot streak and the temps haven't dipped below eighty all week, but she can't help feeling nostalgic for nights with her dad, hot chocolate, and a tub of Ben & Jerry's. Jack nods as he slips the key into the lock of their second floor apartment, "Sure, why not?"

She kicks off her sandals and pads into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for the mint chocolate chip as he flips on the kettle and fills two mugs with marshmallows and the powdered mix. She croons in triumph as her fingers close around the frozen container before hissing at the cold seeping into her skin, and Jack laughs as he pours hot water into the mugs and stirs.

He catches her around the waist as she crosses the kitchen for spoons and pins her against the counter, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple and then the little spot behind her ear that absolutely drives her crazy. She laughs, squirming as his scruff tickles her neck, and he's smiling too when he pulls away, "Come sit with me, Kens, please."

That's what she was planning anyway but there's something so sincere and desperate in his eyes that she just nods, scoops up her hot cocoa, and follows him into the living room. They curl up on the couch; her feet tucked up under her and her head on his shoulder, and watch the lights on the Christmas tree twinkling in the dark.

"Promise me something, Kens," He whispers into her hair and she turns dark eyes up to catch his. "Promise me you'll never change."

She should think this through, realize what he's really trying to say, but there's something magical in the combination of Christmas lights, hot chocolate, and ice cream that interfering with her better judgement. She nods, tucking her head back under his chin, "I promise."

It's the sun that wakes her in the morning, not one of Jack's nightmares, and she smiles at the realization. She reaches out to his side of the bed, frowning when she finds it empty, the sheet already tucked back into hospital corners. He could just be in the bathroom or out for a run, but dread curls cold and hard in the pit of her stomach and she knows something is wrong when he doesn't answer her call.

That's when she rolls over and spies the note on his pillow.

_Kens, _it reads, _sweetheart, I can't do this anymore. It's not you, it's me, and this is goodbye._

It's the sound of his phone buzzing that pulls Deeks back into the land of the living and he rolls over to punch the answer button like its snooze. He yawns wide enough to catch flies, winces when his jaw pops, and finally brings the phone to his ear, muttering something that's meant to be 'Hello' but comes out closer to a mix between a yawn and a groan. He's usually an early riser, but the night before last was a long one involving a traitorous ATF agent and a group of Japanese thugs and he was trying to catch up on some sleep.

It's Callen's voice on the other end of the line, sounding far too awake for it being an unholy hour of the morning, "Where are you?"

Deeks pinches the bridge of his nose and makes a mental note to put his phone on vibrate the next time he wants to sleep in. "In bed," he says, trying and failing to sound in any way alert, "Why?"

"Get dressed," Callen demands, his usual shortness just enough on the side of snappy to be classified as worried, "I'll be there in five."

He drops his phone back on the bed, and hauls himself to his feet as Monty whines at his owner and swishes his tail under his doggie blanket. Of all the dogs in the world, Deeks decides, he has to have the laziest.

Six and half minutes later, Deeks staggers out of the bathroom, bright eyed and still half asleep, to discover that Callen's picked the lock on his door again. The lead agent's pacing a circuit across his kitchen through the living room and back with Monty barely a step behind. Deeks crosses to the fridge, downs half a Redbull in one gulp, and then almost chokes on his next sip as Callen announces, "Kensi's gone missing."

Dread closes a cold fist around his heart and the Redbull burns on the way down. He steps closer, almost into the edge of the lead agent's space, "When?"

"Nearly twelve hours ago, I just found out," Callen says, his tone jumping from tense well into pissed.

Deeks nods, refusing to think about what could have happened in that time, "What now?"

"Pack a bag," Callen answers, his face unreadable, "We're leaving."


	6. Burn

Chapter 6: Burn

"_Love is a fire. But whether it's going to warm your heart or burn your house down, you can never tell." – Joan Crawford_

Kensi's just to the point of questioning her sanity because really, what was she thinking? Riding into the desert, wanting to be captured, is at the top of the list of the stupidest things she's ever done. Still it's done now and there isn't any going back, not without completely tipping her hand and putting the local Taliban on high alert. She still has a ceramic blade hidden in the folds of her vest, but she's saving that for a last resort should they decide that she's not worth the trouble of keeping around.

It's a smoky, hazy hell hole that they're keeping her in, but she's seen worse, not _much_ worse but still worse. She shifts closer to the fire, stilling instantly when the guard by the door glances her way. "I need to see the one they call White Ghost," she says in English and Pashto, but the guard goes back to staring at the wall and ignores her. She's reasonably sure he doesn't understand a word she's saying, but she keeps repeating it anyway, hoping maybe one of them will respond.

Kensi needs to get in touch with Jack soon. She's gone six years without him, moved on with her life and her heart, but still the thought of seeing him again twists her insides into knots. It's a primal, urgent kind of thing, something that churns in her stomach and burns itself into the back of her mind. She _needs_ to see him, find her answers.

She's not sure what she's going to do then, not really. Can she bring him in if he is White Ghost, kill him even? Kensi's not entirely sure, doesn't even know if she wants to know the answer. Still, she supposes she owes it to herself to find out.

The door creeks open behind her, even footsteps and quiet breathing giving away his entrance, and Kensi stiffens. She knows who it's going to be before she turns, almost doesn't want to confirm it, but she does anyway because she's Donald Blye's daughter, a marine at heart.

Kensi stands tall and holds her head high in pride; she's not the same girl he left on Christmas morning. She's grown a lot, lost a lot, and she can stand up to him now. She turns on her heel, holds her hands stiff at her sides, and refuses to acknowledge that they're shaking as she looks him in the eye, "Hello, Jack. Or is it White Ghost now?"

Callen retreats to his car as Deeks throws a mismatch of belongings into a bag and tries to deny the shaking of his hands. He needs to be strong right now, because wherever she is he knows that Kensi's probably counting on him, but suddenly this is too real, too raw. He rakes a hand through his hair and fumbles with the zipper on his bag, his partner's two continents away, missing, maybe hurt, and he can't even manage to pack without nearly having a breakdown.

Monty whines, pressing into the back of his owner's knee and the detective heaves a sigh, knowing the dog is probably sensing his mood. He snaps the clip around Monty's collar and wraps the leash around his hand before snatching up his half-packed bag and heading for the neighbor's. He leaves Monty with Miss Kay-Kay because he doesn't really have time to arrange something better and glances over his shoulder to see Callen already in the front seat of his car, the sat phone against his ear.

Deeks crosses the shared courtyard of his apartment complex to the road where Callen's blue Jag is pulled up against the curb. He pops open the passenger door just as Callen replies, "We're leaving now, be there in twenty."

The lead agent waves Deeks into the passenger seat before hanging up the phone and turning to him, "You ready to go yet?"

Deeks nods, infinitely grateful that his hands have stopped shaking, "Where are we going?"

"Camp Pendleton," Callen says, throwing the car into drive and screaming down the street at speed that puts even Kensi's lead foot to shame. "There's a Gulfstream waiting for us."

Deeks reaches for his seatbelt and tries not to hang on for dear life because if there's one thing Kensi's driving has taught him it's that it never does any good. He clips his seatbelt, glancing into the backseat as he goes to put his bag into the space behind Callen's seat, and freezes when he sees the open rifle case. There's a disassembled rifle lying in pieces and Deeks can't help thinking it looks remarkably familiar, "Is that Kensi's?"

"No," Callen says presumptively, something unreadable crossing his face, "It's mine."

Deeks does a double take at that one because he's only ever seen Callen take up the snipers perch twice, both of which were because Kensi couldn't, "You snipe?"

"No," Callen snaps again, his tone clearly stating that the conversation is over, "not anymore."

He reaches over to crank the radio, blaring soft rock over anything else Deeks has to say and the detective turns away to stare out the window, pressing his hands to his knees to disguise their shaking.


	7. Knowledge

**Author's Note:** I just wanted to say a very special thank you to everyone who has read, favorite, and followed this story. Thank you all, Riptide2

Chapter 7: Knowledge

"_Love is ever the beginning of knowledge as fire is of light." – Thomas Carlyle_

Deeks is just about vibrating in his seat with adrenaline by the time they clear U.S. airspace. It's at least a six hour flight from L.A. to Kabul and that's not counting the storm brewing Southeast of Hawaii that they're going to have to detour around. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the weather's conspiring against them. The smart thing would be to push his seat back and try to get some rest, but Deeks has a caffeine induced rush flooding through his veins, a leaden ball of worry lodged in his throat, and he's starting to regret that second Redbull.

Callen's current mood isn't helping any either. The lead agent's been quiet since they left Deeks' apartment this morning, the snappish note in his voice betraying the fact that he's more worried than he cares to let on, and Deeks has a sinking suspicion that he knows something more than he's saying. It's Callen though, the superspy extraordinaire, and he always seems to be three moves ahead of everyone else so Deeks isn't really sure whether that's a valid insight or his own paranoia.

The ex CIA operative shares a joke and a tense smile that comes off more like a grimace with the pilot, a John that apparently has no last name but quite the past with Deeks' team leader, before closing the cockpit door and rejoining him. Deeks looks up as Callen slips into the seat across from and facing his and the lead agent stares out the window for a moment before turning back to him, "Ok, you have questions."

It's a statement, not a question, and there's something resigned in Callen's eyes that makes Deeks hesitate, but if he's offering, than Deeks isn't going to give up a chance to get a few more of his answers, "Why was Kensi sent after White Ghost?"

G nods slowly, something akin to approval flashing in his eyes. Apparently that was the right question to ask. "She was sent there to find him," he says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "and kill him."

It takes Deeks a moment to wrap his head around that one because government sanctioned assassinations are something he's only read about in cheesy spy thrillers and heard whispered about in backrooms by the CIA. Then again given who he's sitting beside, Deeks thinks that just maybe he should revise his definition of cheesy, "That's why they needed Kensi, because she's a sniper?"

"Not exactly," Callen looks away for half a minute, wariness and worry fighting for dominance in his eyes, before he turns back to Deeks. "What do you know about her ex-fiancé?"

"Jack?" Deeks asks just to be sure because he's only ever heard her talk about him twice, the first time in trying to get a scam artist of a marine to open up and the second after a case gone awry and a night spent in the hospital with a concussed Kensi calling him 'Jack' and demanding to know why he left.

"Yes," the lead agent doesn't elaborate for a while, long enough for Deeks to think the conversation's over before he shifts in his seat, fingers reaching out to subconsciously brush over the rifle case propped beside him, "What do you know about him?"

"Not a lot," Deeks answers truthfully, because all he knows is what he heard from Kensi in the interrogation room with Lieutenant Lance Talbot, "Only that he had PTSD and that he left."

Callen doesn't respond for another long moment, just continues absentmindedly fingering the case of his rifle. The movement strikes Deeks as oddly unguarded for the lead agent, Callen's usually the type to show only what he wants you to see, and yet there's clearly something he isn't saying. "Why Jack?" Deeks asks after a moment, when it becomes obvious his team leader isn't going to continue. "Where does he fit into all of this?"

The lead agent shakes his head instantly. If there's a line in this conversation, than Deeks is tiptoeing awfully close to it and Callen looks him straight in the eye as he says, "That isn't my secret to tell."

Deeks nods, feeling like he's dropped into some variant of the twilight zone and tries to mash the pieces together into something that vaguely resembles a picture. "But you do know?" He demands as Callen pops open the case and starts field stripping his rifle.

The ex-operative tilts his head in something that might be an affirmative. Deeks decides to interpret it as agreement and continues, "And you aren't going to tell me?"

Callen shoots him a look filled with silent warning, the same one that scares terrorists and dares suspects to keep lying, and Deeks buries the urge to scream. His partner's half a world away, missing, and Callen's keeping secrets about her ex-fiancé who may or may not be involved. If there was ever a time to despise the lead agent's paranoia, this was it.

Instead Deeks turns his attention to something else because tying himself into knots isn't going to do anyone any good and Callen may not be the most trusting person in the world but he'd never let anything happen to Kensi, or any of them, if he could help it. Naturally his eyes fall on the half assembled weapon in his boss' lap: a Remington 700. It's a sleek, pure black work of art. Callen's rifle is a higher caliber than Kensi's, but with cleaner lines, the only accessory a laser mounted scope. It's designed for stealth, classic but powerful and more reliant on a steady hand and a sharp eye.

"So why don't you snipe anymore?" The question's out before Deeks realizes it and he catches Callen reaction with surprise as the lead agent's hands still halfway through unscrewing the extended barrel.

G sucks in a breath and blows it out slowly, eyes still on the rifle in his hands, "It's a long story."

"We're going to be on this plane for at least five more hours." Deeks measures his words carefully, makes sure it comes out as an offer instead of a demand. Forcing the issue isn't going to do anything but bring up every one of Callen's walls and for a moment he wishes Sam was here. Those two have always been remarkably good at balancing each other out and he can't help but wonder if he's ever going to get to that point with Kensi where they can understand each other completely and communicate with a glance instead of this indirect, confusing dance.

He doesn't respond for a long moment and Deeks' turns back to stare out the window at the mass of turbulent blue waves passing underneath them. He didn't really expect Callen to elaborate, not with him anyway, because before this whole thing Deeks would have been hard pressed to describe them as friends. Colleagues, along with a good dose of mutual respect for the other's skills and a willingness to put their lives in each other's hands, and Deeks isn't entirely sure what that makes them, but friends seems still a little out of reach.

"The last time I used this rifle-" Callen's voice startles Deeks out of his thoughts and it takes him a moment to mask his surprise enough to nod for his boss to continue. It doesn't seem to matter though, because the ex-operative's eyes are on the weapon in his hands and not Deeks as he continues, "I was hunting down the person who killed my last partner."


	8. Doubt

Chapter 8: Doubt

"_Doubt thou, the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar! But never doubt I love." – William Shakespeare_

It's an empty kind of silence that greets her words, the kind that sucks the life out of the air and leaves the world in a hazy kind of black and white. Except her world has always been a little more gray than most, a little more out of touch. Kensi isn't quite sure what to make of that, or anything else at the moment.

Jack doesn't react, doesn't look shocked, or surprised, or the slightest bit ashamed. Instead he snaps at the guard, ordering him out in Arabic, and Kensi feels fury curling in the pit of her stomach. He walked out on her six years ago and now he doesn't even have the guts to acknowledge her. Still she bites her tongue until the guard is well out of earshot, if there's anything NCIS has taught her it's the value of secrecy.

Jack turns back to her slowly, meeting her gaze, and there's something broken in his eyes, relief and fear and maybe the tiniest hint of hope, that makes everything she wants to say die in her throat. Kensi stays still as he steps closer, within arm's reach now. It'd be far too easy to go for her ceramic blade, take his gun, and make a run for the base, but there's a hint of doubt, unease prickling at the back of her mind. The thought that says she should be dead by now, that it would have been far easier for him never to have come here, keeps her rooted to the spot.

He raises a hand that stills an inch outside of her space like he wants to reach out and touch her, but doesn't dare. Instead that hand falls back to his side and he meets her gaze head on, "I've missed you, Kens."

Maybe it's the use of that nickname, maybe it's just the reminders of heartbreak, and maybe it's been six years in the coming, but fury thrills down her spine and Kensi slaps him, hard.

There's a shocked moment of silence as her hand falls back to her side and neither one of them moves. She flexes her tingling palm, letting the sensation ground her in the here and now as Jack turns his head back to face her again. A tiny part of her wants to apologize, the same part that desperately wants to know if she could have done something more all those years ago, but she stomps on it ruthlessly. She's not the same girl he left on Christmas morning. She's stronger now and she doesn't need his approval.

Jack brings a hand up to rub at his cheek, grinning at her ruefully, "That's not how I was hoping this would go."

Kensi almost rolls her eyes at that, because really what was he expecting? Was she supposed to forget about the last six years, about a Dear John letter left on her pillow that began with goodbye? "_Kens,_" she mocks ignoring the remnants of hurt that twist in her gut, "_sweetheart, I can't do this anymore. It's not you, it's me, and this is goodbye._"

Jack backs up at her words, guilt shining bright in his eyes, and she follows hands curling into loose fists at her sides, "How the _hell_ did you think this was going to go?"

"I'm sorry, Kens." He says finally after the silence stretches taunt between them, "I never meant for this to happen."

"Which part?" She snaps, lowering her voice to a harsh, accusing whisper as Jack shots a glance at the door, "The part where you left me _on Christmas morning_ or the part where you betrayed your country?"

Jack winces, eyes frantically darting to catch hers and this time he does reach out, hands landing heavy on her shoulders, "I never meant any of that. You have to believe me."

Kensi takes a breath, pushes the anger aside, and tries to think clearly because her mission and the lives of a lot of American personnel are still hanging in the balance. "I have to get in contact with my people, Jack." She says, suddenly. She needs her team, the people she trusts. She needs _Deeks_.

Jack Simon stiffens, his hands falling away from her shoulders and he backs up to put even more space between them, "I can't, Kensi-"

It's the guard hammering at the door that cuts him off and Jack yells something back in Arabic that's too quick for her to catch before turning to her again, "I have to go."

"No," Kensi snaps quietly, "Jack-"

"I have to go," he says again, more firmly this time, and he's halfway to the door before he turns back, something significant in his eyes that she can't quite pin down. "The past is a dream, Kens. You're smart enough to figure it out."

Suddenly she's back in an alley in Jalalabad, shaking hands with Callen's contact. _The past is a dream… Good luck, Agent Blye._

Absentmindedly, she realizes that Jack's gone again.


	9. Silence

**Author's Note: **I just wanted to apologize for the late update. I haven't had a lot of free time to write lately. Also a great big Thank you goes out to everyone who has read, reviewed, and followed/favorite this story. I appreciate every one of you. Thanks, Riptide2

Chapter 9: Silence

"_Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star…" - E.E. Cummings._

Seven, Deeks muses, is an odd number. It's supposedly lucky, though Deeks doesn't feel like any type of karma is smiling down on him at the moment, in the Bible it means completion, and in the Zodiac it stands for Cancer. It also happens to be the number of times Callen has tip toed around, broken, or flagrantly ignored international law in getting them here, not that Deeks has been counting of course.

So far they've skirted around both Hawaii and mainland China to avoid radar, bypassed any kind of customs check, and borrowed two trucks and a horse to get to the outskirts of Jalalabad. Worse, Deeks can't help but think as they stow meager provisions and a boatload of ammo into two packs and hit the back streets of the city, is that Callen's not only confiscated his phone but also broken the cardinal rule. The cardinal rule being, don't piss off the all-knowing, ninja mutant that is Hetty.

His partner's in danger and Deeks would be here looking for her come hell or high water but Hetty can put both those things to shame and the more Callen goes black-ops on him the more Deeks is beginning to suspect that she doesn't know they're out of the country. He isn't quite sure if that's a good thing because Owen Granger definitely doesn't know what they're up to or a bad thing because they can't count on any kind of outside help.

Which of course brings him the next problem, Deeks thinks as he watches Callen flit from doorway to doorway with the easy grace of a natural fighter, because how exactly are they going to find Kensi now that they're here? Deeks frowns, forcing his feet not to trip, slip, or otherwise embarrass him and reaches out to catch Callen's elbow before they can turn the next corner.

The lead agent levels him with a warning glance over his shoulder, he's been remarkably quiet since the plane, tense even, and Deeks can't deny any longer that he knows something more than he's saying. "What is it?"

The detective cocks an eyebrow in silent challenge, wishing once again that Sam were with them because he's just about the only one other than Hetty who can get a bead on what Callen's thinking, "Just wondering what the plan is exactly."

His glare softens for a moment, going from solid titanium to regular brick wall, a temporary understanding of shorts, and Deeks can't help but remember what Callen said on the plane about hunting down his partner's killer. He wonders if this isn't somehow more personal for the lead agent than Callen's letting on. G catches his eyes for a moment, icy blue burning in their intensity, "We find your partner. That's the plan."

It takes four turns, three more back alleys, and a trip around the block before Callen pauses in front of a peeling door that looks like it used to be green at some point in the last decade. "This should be it," he says, giving the door three sharp raps.

"Should?" Deeks questions, right as the door slips open an inch, revealing a silver of blonde hair before the woman's motioning them inside quickly.

"G," she breathes in relief, catching the lead agent in a quick hug that he surprisingly returns before bouncing across the room to her computer set up. Deeks watches her go in a light state of shock because she resembles an excitable blonde Barbie more than a CIA operative.

"Sarah," Callen calls and she turns to glance back at him over her shoulder, bright red fingernails still tapping a staccato rhythm against the surface of her desk. "I don't have a lot of time left to find my agent."

Her matching red painted lips pull down into a pout and she clicks to open a file on her screen, "You used to be fun, G."

"I can still be fun," Callen says defensively and the same time Deeks exclaims, "Him, _fun?"_

There's a moment of silence where Callen glares at Deeks and no one moves and then Sarah breaks down into slightly hysterical giggles, swaggering across the room to lay a hand on Callen's shoulder, "Oh, I like him."

The ex-operative levels a glare at her that Sarah blithely ignores and rolls his eyes when she turns away to re-cross the room, "I need to know what the CIA's hiding about White Ghost."

"You mean what we're hiding or what you're hiding?" She retorts easily and Callen's glare goes from annoyed to downright frosty.

"Wait what?" Deeks questions because this just confirms what he's suspected for the last week that Callen knows more than he's saying.

"Tell me where he is," Callen demands bright blue eyes boring a hole into the back of Sarah's head as both parties completely ignore the detective's latest outburst.

"How should I know?" the CIA operative snaps turning back to get into Callen's face. Her whole body's taunt with anger, green eyes flashing, and Deeks has to revise his opinion of blonde Barbies. Callen's a force to be reckoned with and it takes a brave soul to stand up to him, but apparently Sarah's more than willing.

"You're the CIA," Callen snaps back like that explains everything. In some ways maybe it does because what's the point of having an intelligence agency implanted in the middle of Jalalabad if they don't actually gather intelligence.

Sarah doesn't seem to see it that way though, throwing her hands in air with an exaggerated snort, "Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"Enough!" Deeks snaps, he's just about to the point of wringing someone's neck. His partner's missing, probably in danger and they're standing around arguing like a bunch of three year olds. "This isn't getting us anywhere," He says, calmer now that they've at least stopped yelling at each other, before turning back to the blonde operative, "What can you tell us about Ghost?"

Sarah purses her lips and looks away and when Deeks turns to demand answers Callen catches his eyes and shakes his head, a clear message of _not now._ Deeks nods reluctantly, backing down for the moment. Still he's not entirely sure how far he trusts them, either of them. It sends guilt curling in his gut, but Callen's hiding something important and until he knows the truth, _all_ of the truth, he's not going to be turning his back on anyone.

The lead agent's still watching him, studying him, and Deeks buries the urge to squirm as Callen frowns and turns back to the blonde Barbie with nerves of steel, "Sarah, he's right. You need to trust me."

And this time it's Deeks' turn to frown, he's no idiot and he's sure that last part wasn't meant entirely for her.

Sarah glances between them, green eyes still wary before she sighs, "He'll be at _The Star_ in ten minutes. You'd better hurry."

Callen nods and heads for the door, Deeks half a step behind him, and Sarah catches his glance as he goes to pull the door closed, "Be careful."

There's a double meaning in her eyes that's still bouncing around in Deeks' cranium almost ten minutes later when Callen pauses in an alley across from _The Star_. It's a rundown hotel, with a fading blue awning, and a permanent group of thugs occupying its front porch, the perfect spot for an ambush. Who exactly the ambush is going to be for has yet to be seen.

They've already changed clothes in the plane and Deeks is starting to wish for his homeless coat and its horrendous stench because the woven wool tunic he's wearing now is all kinds of itchy, but it's good for blending in and he has the momentary thought that if all native clothing is this horrible it's no wonder people become terrorists. Callen digs in his pack as they wait; producing two woolen caps and the shaggy blonde has the sneaking suspicion that he really is going to need a haircut when this is over just to get rid of the itchiness.

"Put it on," Callen prompts when he makes no move to take it, glaring at the cap like it's the unholy offspring of Owen Granger. "We need to catch him in the street, before he makes it to the hotel."

Deeks nods, cringing as he tucks blonde curls into the woolen cap. It's a good plan, to head him off before he can warn any allies inside, but still a risky move in broad daylight. "I'll take the left."

Callen doesn't respond just melts into the crowd heading in the opposite direction and Deeks straightens, keeping one hand on his Beretta as he weaves through people toward the tailor shop directly beside _the Star._ There's nothing for a few moments just rolling noise from the group of thugs to his left and the bustle of natives going about their business, and just when Deeks is about to rip the woolen itchy monster off his head and stomp on it, Callen catches his eyes and signals: go time.

It's a man with shaggy black hair, pale skin, and a shadow of stubble on his skin that they close in on, and Deeks isn't sure who's more surprised when Deeks jams a gun in his ribs and Callen snarls, "Hello, Jack."


End file.
